There are many graves that I have dug, but refused to lie in them
There would be too many, as I’d keep digging
Until my breath would come in quick rasps, and my arms heavy trunks
Until my eyes would fade in and out of focus, and day would fade to dusk
Rows and rows and rows of holes, each one by the other’s side
For even ghosts and ghouls and wandering souls
Would soon become lonely
Even when the night came, in a falling heap would they continue to walk
And think of their actions, or their life in the past and why they couldn’t talk
Each of their words strangled and scrambled to the winds howling in stormy skies
Each of their tears turned to stone before it even reaches their eyes
From their heart that was once full of blood, is the empty which comes the ice cold
From there would be their story, locked in pages of black ink
Memories have long since faded, and the words shall all get jumbled on the paper
Twisting and turning, and melting off the book
To be carried in their hearts, and in their minds they carried the key
That remains to be forgotten, and so they shall walk lost
And for leaving your graves, row by row, unburied, is simply the cost.
